The Girl who Plays God
by Raikaria
Summary: A quick one-shot about Alice's mentality and thoughts as she works on her dolls. Nothing big, just easing back into things.


Disclaimer:

This story is in no way affiliated with Team Shanghai Alice. It respects all of their copyright; and intends no infringement. This work is not for profit, thus falls under fair use.

My fingers toil. The speed and accuracy with which they work is of no comparison. A lesser being would prick their fingers so much they would die from blood loss. A less skilled practitioner would make errors, and work at a far slower pace. But me? I can perform this art fluently, seamlessly, days at a time without a break.

Stitch, sew, weave in and out. The garments are complete. A perfect fit, of course. Nothing less than perfection is allowed for my creations. Carve, cut, smooth. The body is pristine, not a single thing out of place. Dab, stroke, brush. The features take form.

The form of the doll is perfect, but there is something I cannot grasp. It just sits there. It just sits there. What do I do next? It should be moving. Why dosen't it move? Why doesn't it worship me as it's creator... it's mother. That is all I want.

I don't need anyone else, the actions of lesser beings are nothing to me. This is my task, my life. I will work at it until I succeed, because I must. I know I can do it. I must be able to solve the riddle.

Turn, flick, read. Another book, another spell, yet the results are the same. The lifelike shape just stares blankly back at me. It's eyes almost mocking.

I erupt. I throw the figure, unwilling to obey, across the room. I can create, and I can just as easily destroy. A blast of danmaku throws it's arm off, the tiny dagger it was holding with it. I walk over and kick it, out of the window, before I shoot some fire magic at it, detonating the gunpowder. The ashes and woodchips returning to the forest from whence they came, just as I will return to nothingness one day.

What makes her so special? Why can I play only with shapes, when she can toy with souls as well? Mother, why can't I be like you? It is all I want. I would give anything to just once hear something I created see me as it's mother.

I take up strings, and move my puppets around me. Shanghai drapes her arms around my neck.

I can almost hear her say 'Don't worry mother', but it is my own delusions. I look at the hanged doll; Hourai. The representation of the futility of my dreams. I know it is futile to emulate her, but she is the one I worship; she is the one I look up to. I am her flesh, her blood, I am not just a toy to her. And the dolls are not just toys to me.

I'll show her. I'll show her what I can do. I won't settle for just being another daughter, another creation she forgets and replaces. I will be someone she can notice. Someone she has to notice. That's all I want... to know she will never forget me, in all of her eternity.

But why can't I do it... and why do I feel so empty... ever since I started meeting people from Gensokyo. In the past I was always happy to be alone and focus on my goals, but now... it feels hollow at times.

They are just distractions... but why do I enjoy them? Why do I now crave for someone to knock on my door? Be it Marisa barging in, or Reimu angry about something... even the fairies are amusing. But I never knew why.

The shopkeeper who gives me supplies is nice too. I enjoy talking with him. Years ago I would just take my things and go back to work. Sometimes I even go out for other reasons. Parties at the Shrine. Visiting Miss Knowledge's library. Even checking up on Miss Kazami on occasion, although that fills me with dread, I feel an obligation to make sure she is not plotting another attempted genocide-game.

But these are all distractions. Or are they? Maybe to create a soul one must understand it first.

But then why didn't I like my sisters? Why could I not learn from you, mother? It cannot be this. It makes no sense. A soul is a soul. Why can I only connect with those here?

I'm not sure what I feel to you, mother. I idolize you. I worship you. I want to be like you. But at the same time; I hate you. I hate you for not helping me. I hate you for forgetting me. I hate you for not smashing Yukari's boundaries and taking me home. Am I that little to you? Am I forgotten?

The girl continued to make dolls. She kept playing with shapes, aiming to play with souls as well. She created dolls when she aimed to create life. She played puppeteer when she wanted to play God.

This is the goal of Alice Margatroid; the Daughter of a God


End file.
